Mr. Z Personcore Writeup

Somewhere, in the year 2160, a time capsule has been unearthed. This is no ordinary time capsule, as it has a unique black and red pattern and has been adorned with a horse nail cross on the front. As our futuristic ascendants examine the fine quality-craftsmanship, they can’t help but notice the only text on the capsule, is a “Z”. The audience that has gathered around this heirloom begin to talk amongst themselves, believing they have found some sort of ancient alien artifact or some undiscovered, lost relic of a previous world.  Their curiosity has reached their peak and they begin to unscrew the top of the capsule, as the top begins to unscrew, a loud, continual heavy thumping is heard. Colorful lights flash from the top of the capsule, which seems to change with every beat. Hundreds of colorful flashes of lights, enough to give someone epilepsy. As the beat gets louder, the capsule starts to vibrate, a reaction due to the extreme bass content that loosens ear wax and causes fillings to fall out of teeth. A young boy holds his mother close, exclaiming that he’s scared. The mother places his arms around him, comforting the boy. What is inside the capsule? A pair of speakers attached to a subwoofer. The noise grows with intensity, as several members of the community find themselves bobbing their head to beat and tapping their foot on the ground. The light, that was once a small, vibrant beam, has now become full-fledge spotlights, changing color which each beat. They light up the evening sky with a beautiful array of multicolored lasers. Members of the community throw their hands up in the air and begin to dance to the music which has filled the airwaves with good vibes. The time capsule rattles and shakes, and eventually explodes, spawning a full-sized turntable setup complete with a holographic DJ and exotic, beautiful female dancers that swing their hips to beat the of the music. Blunts and drugs are passed around (for those who want them) as everyone raves on.
As twilight sets in, the party begins to die down, and the last song plays. The DJ thanks everyone for coming. Everyone egresses, but the memory of the dance party still rages on in the hearts of many. The dust settles, and the holograms that were once teeming with life, simply fade away. The only thing that remains is a small letter.

At the top of the letter, in bold print is a listening of tracks from a person with the online pseudonym, “They Call Him Mr. Z.”
“Thanks for listening to this playlist. These songs were carefully curated with thought and expresses the kind of taste I had back when I was alive including forms of electronic and heavy bass music: dubstep, 2-step, future garage, grime, drum and bass, experimental, etc. If you’re reading this message, congratulations: you’ve experienced the very best of Zstep.”

The note disintegrates in the wind.